The birth of Seric, chosen of Khorne
by Kainthedragoonx
Summary: This is a story written for the Origins Rogue Trader Tournement. It tells of the birth of Seric, Lord of Khorne. I look forward to your reviews.


The sun beat down upon the tanned backs of the warriors from the north. Their skin never suffered its wrath for so long, and paid the price. The now blistered skin rose up and fell down in tune with the march of the horde. In another hour the mass would lay waist to the small town of Izark, bringing down the heretic priest and pleasing the one true God. One month ago today, the prophet once again brought word from God himself. The heavily armored warrior spoke of the Red God demanding the blood of the heretic spilled and his temple destroyed. The Bringer of Death did not allow magic, and his followers destroyed any that practiced it. The prophet also spoke of a chosen to be born during the battle, and that he would lead the horde onward towards many victories. The prophet had visited the village many times before, and spoke of the way the heretic preached blasphemy against their God, and cursed his name publicly. The army of the north marched the same day. The scout brought word that the village was another hour away. The blasphemist knew that they marched, and had gathered an army to defend himself. The scout counted a total of two hundred armed men, all on foot. The north men had only 100 men, but all were mounted, which meant this would be an easy slaughter. The order was given, and the men picked up their pace, readied their weapons, and prepared themselves, for someone in their ranks would become God's Chosen warrior, meaning He was watching.  
  
Seric marched forward towards the small town. It was time for him to become a man. It was custom to his people that before boys are considered men they must fight in battle. Finally it was his time to cast off the sheepskin he was wearing, and cover himself in the bearskin cloak that marked him as a man instead of a boy. He was a little older than most boys in his pack, due to the lack of fighting in the past two years. Because his brother had died in battle, his mother needed him to take on the chores of the house, and he had suffered because of it. Now was his time to prove himself to his tribe and his God. Looking around he noticed that the boys around him were trembling, and the horses they road could smell the fear in their veins. But not Seric, and his steed, Mar-Gial, was as ready as he was. Some in the tribe, including him, believed that without their horse, the rider would be less of a man. Mar-Gial was Seric's best friend, and his only friend sense the death of his brother. Today Seric would slay in the name of the Skull God, and his brother's soul would smile down upon him.  
  
The front lines of the horde came to the top of the last hill protecting Izark. Six hundred feet down, the small town was finishing the last of the defensive measures. Soon the horde would crash down upon the heretic, and blood would be spilled in his name. The orders were given to the captains, and as usual, the mass of boys would be sent into battle first.  
  
Seric heard the first cry of the battle horn. Mar-Gial snorted with pleasure. He could feel Seric's blood pulsate with the frenzy of battle. Soon Seric would become a man; finally he would be able be part of the tribe. Today was a great day to do battle in Khorne's name.  
  
The red sun burned down upon the backs of the boys as they charged down the hill towards the town. The boys totaled one third of the horde, charging towards the defenses, drawing steel. The town rained arrows down upon the horde, and bodies collapsed to the ground around the walls. Finally the walls fell, and the swarm slammed into the defenders of Izark.  
  
Seric charged forward into the hail of arrows. The boy next to him took three and fell off his horse. His death fueled the bloodlust in Seric's veins. All around him he could see little boys falling to their deaths. But not him, he prepared for this day, and covered himself with his makeshift shield. He could feel each arrow slam into the rounded wood above him. Each time he thanked Khorne for the idea of bringing a shield along. Most of the other boys did not do want the extra weight, but Seric knew that with a battle, came the need for protection against ranged weapons. By the time he reached the flat area outside the walls, the ranks of the boys slimmed to about half it's starting number. Seric did not care; he wanted nothing more than to kill, so that he could become a full-fledged member of the tribe. He pushed his warhorse harder now, so that he could gain added protection from the homes surrounding the town. Soon they would be to the walls of the heretic; soon Seric's weapons would feast on the flesh of the slain villagers. Seric watched as the first group of boys slammed into the walls of Izark. The horses reared up and kicked at it, applying enough pressure to break any man. The wooden wall crashed down, killing all that stood on top of it. As soon as the walls cracked the remaining boys pushed their way into the town, smiling as they crashed into the remaining defenders. The time was now. Mar-Gial knew the time for the rite of passage was at hand, and Seric knew it too. Feeding off his bloodlust, he charged straight into the first row of defenders, bringing his sword down upon his enemies.  
  
As the last boy pushed his way into the town, the horn once again blew, signaling it was time to rid this world of the blasphemous heretic. The remaining horsemen filed up and charged down the hill towards the now gapping hole in the wall. The prophet led the charge down the hill, bringing with him his horde. The heat of the blood red Sun fed into the hearts of the men, and pushed them into frenzy unlike any the town had seen before. Seric heard the sounds of the horn off in the distance. He must kill enough men before they arrived to be considered a man. His time was now; he must kill more. Mar-Gial seemed to feel the continued increase of rage in his mount's body, for he too pushed harder against the armored opponents. With each swing of his sword, Seric caught another victim for his one true God. Even Mar-Gial was capturing skulls for the Blood God, but it would not be enough. To become a man he needed to kill more. He could think of nothing else, and felt little pain. He must spill more blood, or Khorne would not approve him for manhood. Seric continued to push through the ranks of the defenders, bringing down his blade upon all that stood in his way. His skin was covered in the blood of his offerings for manhood, and even Mar-Gial was looking more red than brown now. He worked so hard slaying for his God, that he didn't notice the thundering sounds from outside the town. The Prophet led horde was not ready for surprise the heretic laid for them. As they charged down the hill into the open field, the sky darkened. Without warning, the heretic had summoned some sort of cursed magic effect. Before the horde reacted, a huge meteor crashed into the center of swarm. Within a brief minute, most of the remaining horde was crushed into fertilizer. Blood rained down upon the hole in the ground. Dust poured up from the ground into the noonday sky. The day darkened to that of a cold winter night from the northlands, but still the Sun burned upon the backs of the tribe's remaining warriors.  
  
Seric smelled the magic in the air, pushing his frenzy even higher. He must find the source of the smell and claim it, then, and only then, will be able to be considered a man. Nothing else would do except the head of the heretic himself. Mar-Gial sorted with agreement and pushed forward towards the center of the town, towards the temple. He must slay the beast that corrupted the name of God; he must pay the ultimate price. Now was the time to become a man. The head of the priest would bring him into manhood, this he knew for sure, therefore Seric must claim his soul before the prophet challenged the heretic himself. Seric reared up Mar-Gial once again, slamming into another hapless defender, and charged forward towards the town center.  
  
The prophet pulled the remaining horsemen into the town. With only half of the remaining adult warriors, the task ahead seemed a little harder. The swarm of boys took heavy casualties, but the remaining ones proved themselves eager to please the bloodied one. The surviving horsemen seemed eager enough to join in the bloodshed, and the charge order was given to the war band.  
  
Seric cursed as he heard the charge order given. Soon the adults would be around; soon his chance for manhood would be lost. The rage mixed with the hatred, turning his white eyes red. He must kill the priest now, before it is too late. Freeing himself from the orgy of death, Seric and Mar-Gial galloped towards the temple grounds. As he approached, he could hear the elite temple guard, fully armored and prepared to die for their lord. Thumping his fist into Mar-Gial, he charged forward towards the line of troops. Killing the Priest was the only thing that mattered now, and not even the elite guard would stop him. Rounding the corner towards the temple, he came to the sudden realization that he alone could not kill the ten guardsmen. Cursing under his breath, Seric turned his war-horse around and scanned the battlefield, looking for someone to join him. As quickly as he scanned, he noticed a few boys fighting with a fury almost parallel to his. Seric pushed his heels into the side of his mount forcing Mar-Gial to rear up, standing a full ten feet into the air. Without hesitation, Seric barked orders to the boys he saw, ordering them to join him in manhood. Without question eight boys retreated from the current battle, and charged forward into the Temple Guard. Seric was quick to follow.  
  
Coming together as one, the boy-regiment slammed right into the temple guard. Two of the temple guard fell to the first swing of the blade, and the horses crushed two more. The guard slammed back into the boys, but shields and swords were there to embrace the attack. Seric himself lunged towards the captain and engaged him in one on one combat, issuing a challenge by slamming his mace into his opponent's shield. The captain returned the favor by slamming his axe into Seric's shield, breaking it in half. In a frenzied counter attack, Seric slammed his mace into the captain's unguarded face. Before the mace pressed into the facial region of the captain, his body was covered in a dimly glowing light. Somehow the cheap chain on his neck had protected him from the deathblow of the mace. The captain laughed. Seric followed the laugh with a bellow of hatred. That was his best attack, and somehow the captain survived it. The captain saw the confused look on Seric's face, and brought the axe toward Seric's upper leg. Seric realized the blow was coming at the last minute, and pulled his leg away from the blow. The axe head missed the leg, but pushed its way into Mar-Gial's tanned skin. Mar-Gial suffered the shock of the blow, and fell to the ground. Seric, enveloped in unmatched rage, leaped off his horse and landed on top of the captain. Yelling, Seric slammed the mace repeatedly into the captain's face, surprised by the move of the young man; the captain was caught off guard, and fell under a fury of strikes from the mace. The chosen fighters laid waste to the temple guard. The ragtag band of boys easily crushed the armed foot soldiers. After seeing their champion destroyed the captain of the guard, Seric's chosen fought with increased vigor. The men that did not suffer the killing blows of the mounted frenzy of boys soon retreated into the field opposite the battle. Mar-Gial lay on the steps outside the temple, blood leaking from his deep wound. Seric patted him one last time, and turned towards the body of the Captain. He was too angry to greave the loss of his best friend, and now Mar-Gial would join the Lord of Slaughter. Walking over to the slain captain, Seric reached down, grabbed the axe, and chopped the man's head off. Seric then grabbed the talisman around his neck, and placed it around his own. Looking over to the mounted warriors, he commanded them to wait for his return. They did as they were told. Mace in one hand, axe and head in the other, the bloodied man entered the heretic's temple. Walking through the temple, Seric forced himself not to become sickened by the sight of what he saw. The thought of spending time in the dark halls of the temple made his stomach turn. Everywhere he found someone sitting and reading, or praying, he stopped to execute them, to save their souls from this hellish torment. Finally he came to a set of huge wooden doors. Seric could smell the magic from within. All he had to do now was slay this foe, and manhood would be his, and Mar-Gial's death would be avenged. Seric pushed on the heavy doors, and what he saw he could not believe.  
  
In the center of the room sat a beautiful young woman pooling over a huge tomb. Seric would have been in shock, but the rage broke through the dam that shock tried to create. Instead Seric marched into the room and issued a challenge at the top of his voice. With little effort the woman rose from the alter-thing and turned towards Seric. She smiled to him and whispered her corruption into the wind. Her words echoed in the back of his mind, forcing him to drop his weapons. She slowly floated to where he stood, lips mouthing some unknown curse. When she got to him, she embraced him, and slowly pulled a large dagger from her belt. Like a snake, she jabbed the dagger into Seric's unguarded chest. Seric awoke to a burning feeling around his neck. Looking around he realized that this wench-priestess was standing before him, dagger in hand. Quickly he rolled back, and grabbed the axe lying at his feet. He pushed back up to his feet just in time to catch the dagger in the shoulder. Instead of pain, Seric felt increased rage, and charged the woman. When he was within reach, he leaped at her, bringing the axe down upon her head. Because of the motion he was in, Seric could do nothing to prevent the glimmering arrow from hitting him in the stomach. Seric brought the axe down, and placed another skull on God's Throne. Without the rage to mask the pain, the young warrior slammed into the floor, suddenly aware of the hole in his lower chest. Coughing up blood, Seric smiled to himself. "Finally, I have become a man", he said to himself, as darkness wrapped his vision.  
  
He opened his eyes to find himself a lying in a huge pile of Sun bleached Skulls. Looking around he came to the conclusion that he must be dead, for he stood at the bottom of God's Throne. Knowing that he must climb to the top of the mountain in order to be judged, Seric began to climb. This was the reason he lived, to finally be able to climb to God's Throne, the Throne of Blood. For days, Seric continued to climb, knowing that soon, he would be at the top, and God would give him his final judgment. He continued to climb, day in and day out. It seemed like a month passed before he reached the top of the mountain. When he finally reached it he did not believe what he saw. Instead of seeing God, or a Throne or anything, the mountain just ended. He came to the plateau of the pile of Skulls, and it just ended. Shock was not new to Seric, but he felt a new kind of emptiness in his stomach, then he rationalized that God would not wait for him, so he must wait for God. Smiling inward to himself, Seric climbed to the top of the pile, and sat and waited. But there would be no waiting, for as soon as he sat down; the sky was filled with blood red clouds. Seric did nothing but stare at them, something he had never seen before. When the clouds finished forming, the silence and the disbelief was replaced by a thundering voice. "Seric Dhemodus, you have proven yourself worthy to bare my mark, and to command my legions," the voice boomed, paused, and continued. "You have earned my gaze, and I will bless you with my mark, and all that you mark shall be marked by me as well, and all those that you slay, will be slain in my name. I have granted you the tools for battle, now do not allow the servants of magic run free any longer. And above all else, do not disgrace me, or you will suffer my wraith." With that darkness once again fell upon Seric.  
  
With a jolt, Seric came too. He awoke lying next to the still bleeding corpse of the priestess. Looking down towards his wounds, he saw not a gaping hole, but a scar in the sacred shape of Khorne. He was also aware that the cheap talisman around his neck now was made with heavy iron, and had a large red eye in place of the silly little jewel it once carried. Filling his body with renewed energy, Seric reached for the candle on the table like alter, and proceeded to burn the inner section of the temple to the ground.  
  
Smoke danced around the temple's entrance as Seric emerged from the darkness. Khorne's sacred mark burned in the light of the blood Sun in such a way that all of the gathered Warriors could see its glory. Turning as he past the last bookcase, Seric tossed the candle towards it. From now on, no wizard would be safe, and no library or temple would be protected, all would suffer the same fate as this heretic did. Lord Khorne had proven himself as the one true God, and all shall learn this fact. When Seric reached the bottom of the temple stairs, he saw God's true gift to him. At the bottom stood Mar-Gial, now twice his former size, breathing a wreath of flames, darkened to the color of dried blood. Seric knew that Khorne, Lord of Slaughter, had sent one of his servants to revive and strength the horse, proving that Mar-Gial himself had even earned their Lord's favor. The prophet stood next to the Warhorse, waiting for Seric to present himself. "Khorne has chosen his new champion! All hail our new lord!" the prophet yelled as Seric approached. As he made his was towards Mar-Gial, all in his path bowed before him. Finally Seric came face to face with the prophet. "Prepare a brand with God's scared mark. Use the weapons of the fallen to create these, and the fires of the temple to heat them. The time for my warriors to be marked has come." Seric ordered. With that the Prophet and seven men began gathering the weapons. "The rest of you, gather the bodies of the slain, and burn them in the fires of the temple." The men followed his command. Seric finally came to his chosen warriors. These boys had risked everything to follow Seric's command before he was chosen, and now they would be rewarded. "You have proven yourself to me. From this day forward, you will be my chosen bodyguards. You have already proven that you will follow my commands before my trial, and now you will be rewarded. Now prepare yourselves, for you will be the first to gain my mark, and you will become my greatest Champions. Now go!" Seric commanded and the chosen obeyed.  
  
As the sun sank low in the hills, Seric and his band finished completing their tasks. The temple was little more than a smoldering pile of rubble. When the brands were made, Seric called the horde together. "Today, eight boys rode into battle with me. During that battle they became men, and my chosen. Now they will be forever marked with my, and intern Khorne's mark. I do this so all can be aware of their bravery. Today I've picked my personal warriors, and their word will be taken as mine." Seric preached, grabbed the brand and marked each of his hand picked warriors with the sacred mark of God, so that they will forever gain His favor. The rest of the evening was spent pillaging the town of Izark. Anyone was allowed to keep what he found, except shields and heavy armor. By the time the sun was gone from the sky, eleven horses were loaded with Seric's personal armaments. Every boy left standing was granted manhood, and every man was given rights to the loot he found. That was the way of things for Seric's tribe, and Seric himself planned on keeping it that way.  
  
When the Sun began its march across the sky, the horde of Seric Dhemodus marched from the ruined town of Izark. Seric gave the order to burn the town to the ground, and it was done. The men that had lost their horse in battle took a horse that was rider-less, and the remaining horses were tied together for the journey home. The remaining 45 men marched back towards their homelands, wanting to sleep once again in their beds.  
  
Many days passed before Seric reached the cool lands of the north. While he rode, he thought of how he will have to give up the normal life of a tribesman for the life of Khorne's chosen General. He knew that the rest of his life would be battle and warfare. Seric liked that idea, the idea that he could bring many skulls to his father's throne. During the journey home, Seric demanded that the Prophet teach him the language of his enemies and the location of any race that practiced against his God. The journey home was filled with weapons practice, traveling, and learning. All this was done to please the one true God, the lord of all, and the bringer of death.  
  
Three weeks later, the horde marched towards the village of Khorimth, their home. Seric could feel Mar-Gial's new strength pushing him from a slow pace to a light jog. Spring would be coming soon, and Mar-Gial felt the urge to breed, knowing that he would be bred with all the mares that were in heat. Today would be a glorious day for all, for the Men of the village would return victors, with enough loot to feed the family through summer. The prophet pulled Seric aside and spoke to him. "My Lord, some of the Elders will not accept your status without a display of strength. Be prepared to have to fight for your place at the seat of power." Seric turned towards him. "If I must slay all of them, I will. Khorne's commands must be obeyed. With his eye around my neck, the size and power of Mar-Gial, and his mark on my stomach do not prove that I have been chosen, then I will prove it with my blade. Now go, and tell the Elders Khorne's champion has been born." With that the prophet took his mount, and galloped into the village. Seric mustered the horde into rank and file, to better display his leadership ability. The idea of slaying his elders did not suit him well, but if it had to be done, then so be it. God had given him a mission, and he would not fail. Seric himself pulled Mar-Gial into the center of his chosen, and gave the orders to force a march. The Horns of command blew, and the horde sped towards home. They would be home within the hour. By the time Seric could see into the village, most of the woman and children had come out into the open. This was common for the women to come out to greet their husbands, but the children rarely did. They must have heard the women talk about the champion of Khorne. Seric removed his shirt so that all could see his marking. He wanted people to know who he was, and that he left the village a boy and now was more than just any plain man. Mar-Gial could feel his pride, and in turn stiffened up, and now Seric was at least a foot higher than the rest of the horde. All could see him and his daemon-horse as they entered the outer ring of Khorimth.  
  
As they marched past the first homes in the village, Seric gave the order to allow the dismissal the troops. Men and their horses left to return to their homes. As they marched past each section of the village, every woman touched the side of Mar-Gial, signaling that they believed the word the prophet spoke only hours before. Many of them had to fight back the fear just to touch him, but in all cases every woman forced herself, to show her loyalty. By the time they reached the center of the village, the entire horde had dispersed, save the Chosen. They marched behind Seric and together marched towards the Huts in the center of the village. Standing outside the huts, stood the five eldest, and the prophet, waiting for Seric to show himself. They where not prepared to face what they saw. Mar-Gial was something that was only dreamed about before Seric was reborn. Now the Elders saw a gift from their God in the Flesh. Smoke and flames breathed in and out of Mar-Gial's nose as Seric pulled him towards the first of the Elders. There were not enough flames to actually harm the man, but fear told him otherwise, and he pulled away from the beast-horse. Seric smirked, dismounted, handed the reigns of Mar-Gial to one of his chosen, and walked to the center of the Elders. "I left here nothing but a boy, and now I return to you Chosen among the tribe. He has given me orders that I cannot disobey. I have taken command of the Troops, and now I demand your support. I will need armor and barding constructed for my chosen, and Mar-Gial will breed with the best mares to produce stronger mounts for my warriors." Seric ordered. The youngest of the Elders stepped forward. "You will do no such thing. We have ruled here for generations, and you will not change that in one day. We will not bow to your rule." he countered but was interrupted by another elder. "Domitrus, be quiet. The sacred one has marked Seric. I suggest we help him. Do what he commands, for no other reason than the fact that he has the command of the troops." The elder suggested. "I will not give rule to this child. He is but a boy." Domitrus said. The words danced into Seric's mind, and he could not understand why the elder would not give him what he asked for. The doubt was soon replaced with anger at being given an order by some old man, and once again the white of his eyes were replaced with the red associated with Khorne's rage. When Seric looked up towards Domitrus's eyes, the elder knew he in trouble.  
  
Quickly Domitrus grabbed the sword from Seric's belt, and charged at him. Thinking that he would be an easy kill, the youngest of the elders thought he was safe. That idea was lost when the eye around the iron chain opened. The sword should have cleaved Seric in half, but because of the eye, the sword did not even pierce the flesh. Domitrus just looked at the champion in horror. Seric reached forth and grabbed the man by his neck. He did not realize it until after he lifted the man that he had grown taller, but that was not important. Now all that mattered was to silence this doubter. "You have proven yourself an enemy of Khorne. By attacking me, you have proved you are my enemy. I will no longer tolerate this disobedience." Seric raged.  
  
"Please, I was only tesstttt." was all Domitrus could rasp before he choked on his own blood. Seric crushed the poor fool's windpipe with his bare hand. "Now listen to me, and listen to me well. I will not take leadership from you; I have other conquests to undertake. All I seek is your help in preparing me for my journey ahead." Seric said as he tossed the corpse to the ground. Marus, wisest of the Elders walked over towards Seric and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Son, you have proven yourself as a champion of our Lord. Come, you have earned the right to our tribe's most valuable possession." With that Marus and Seric walked into the Elder's hut. Standing there in the center of the room lay the first champion's armaments. Seric walked over to the highly ornate armor, and laid his hand upon it, and felt the presence of Khorne hammered into the metal, heat blazing forth from within. "This will do nicely. Now I want to use the blacksmiths, for I need armor of this strength for my personal retinue. We need to be fitted for our journey at hand." "Give us one year, and we will have horses bred, and the equipment ready." Marus retorted. With that, the peaceful village became a war machine, turning steel into armor and weapons, preparing Seric's Horde for battle.  
  
During the early summer, Mar-Gial mated with the finest mares in the village. Each of Seric's Chosen picked his own mare to use, too better enrich the bond between Man and beast. The colts born from Mar-Gial were larger than the standard horse, when midnight black skins, and ice blue eyes. These horses retained most of their father's ferocity. The summer and fall was spent with the horses, preparing them for battle.  
During the year while Seric waited, the village grew twice its size. Word spread that the chosen was going off to war, and many of Khorne's followers wanted to join in the Lord's quest. Many brought families with them, and many young men willing to die for the Bloodied One. By the time the call for arms went out Khorimth was a makeshift city.  
Throughout the year, the blacksmiths labored to fill Seric's orders, and all the empty spaces of the town slowly filled with weapons, shields, and armor. Piles of swords, hammers, and axes lay in every blacksmith's chamber. All of them wanted to impress Seric, wanting to gain Khorne's favor. They hoped to be able to match the craftsmanship of the armor worn by Seric. To match that quality would mean that Khorne too would reward him. With this dream in mind, they labored day and night, finishing the order before the following spring.  
  
Finally the time came for Seric to once again march into battle. But before he could do so, he must have only the best warriors follow him into battle, for failure would bring Khorne's wraith. That was something Seric did not want to tend with. He feared no mortal, but angering his God would bring a fate worse than any imagined. So, to protect himself, Seric ordered a series of war games so that only the best of the best would be in his army.  
  
For the next three months, every man in the village joined in these games. Some men died, others were brutally scarred. Others made it out alive. By the end of the games, Seric picked the best of the best, totaling twenty- four men, forming into three groups of eight, Khorne's sacred number. Each of these men was given heavy armor, shields, and weapons of their choice. They also where given one of Mar-Gial's offspring. These men then where marked with Khorne's mark, and became Knights of Khorne, warriors of blood. Finally Seric had his army, and readied himself for battle. Now it was his time to prove himself to his God, and he would not fail. The closest Temple was a three-week journey to the southwest, into the borderlands near the lands of the Elves. Seric once again approached the elders, and informed them that he and his men would march when the sun pulled itself from its sleep. The elders held a feast in Khorne's name. When the Sun began it's march across the heavens, Seric and his horde prepared themselves for the journey at hand. As they marched out towards Khorne's enemies, many men asked if they could join up, wanting a chance to prove themselves to Seric. Knowing that the task ahead was not going to be an easy one, Seric allowed the men to join. By the time the army left the camp surrounding the village, another thirty-two men had joined the horde, armed with various weapons and shields, all mounted. Seric divided these men into groups of eight, to keep Khorne's favor. Together as one, the bloodied fist of Khorne, marched as one under the banner of Seric Dhemodus. While they journeyed, Seric appointed one man in each of the groups to act as the champion of the group, one man to carry their banner, and one man to carry a horn of battle. No man would question Seric's orders, for they wanted to someday serve him, and carry Khorne's mark. Seric also made sure that he spent time talking with his troops, and training them in combat. He wanted his men to be loyal to him, so he spent time placing himself as their new father. That way when the time came for them to die, they would not question it. A few weeks later Seric's horde approached the target of his quest. The time was coming when Seric could prove himself to his Lord, and he felt the exuberance rush through him, just like it did before. The night before the battle, Seric received a vision from God. In that vision he was told to seek the Temple, for gifts would be awaiting him there. Upon awaking, Seric felt that the time for battle was at hand, and he could no longer wait. His hatred of magic, and curiosity for what lay ahead soon overcame him, and he gave the move order a full hour early. The large town was not prepared for Seric's horde, and as they approached, he could hear the first toll of the warning bell. Seric ordered his chosen musician to sound the charge, and the Seric's first battle as general began. He and his chosen lead the charge into the gates of the town. A group of defenders stood waiting at the entrance to the village, but they froze in fear at the sight of Mar-Gial, and quickly fell victim to the weapons of the one true God. The town itself fell victim to the forces of Khorne, and little resistance was met until they approached the temple itself. Seric smiled to himself as he and his chosen approached the temple of the heretic Sigmar. "Soon we will have victory! For the Glory of Khorne!" Seric screamed as he led the charge into the waiting temple guards. Horsemen smashed into guard, sword into mace, as the horde of Khorne attacked the Defenders of Sigmar. Seric himself charged forth into the Commander, and challenged him in front of all his minions. The Warrior-Priest answered the challenge with a prayer spell, but the magic power was wasted, for Khorne's hand smote the spell before it could be cast. Seric felt the magic power fueling his rage, and he cleaved the head of the priest with swing after swing of his mace. He smashed the priest so hard that the mace itself crumbled under his strength. Seric smiled to himself, and pulled Mar-Gial towards the temple guard, allowing the demon-horse to display his power. With little effort, two men where crushed under his weight. Before long, the temple guard was smashed, and the town was under Khorne's banner. Thinking that the town was too easily won, Seric ordered all his knights except his chosen to survey the town, looking for any other living people. Seric and his chosen then dismounted, and entered the temple grounds. The war band searched the temple high and low, looking for anything that could be used as supplies for the army. Finally, after entering the temple's "confessional", Seric found what God's vision had shown him. There laid a young man tied to a rack, bearing the mark of the chosen. Seric approached him and said, "Awake young one, for I have come to release you, for our Lord demands you serve him once again. I am Seric Dhemodus, Champion of our God, general of the Pugnus Solaris Cruentus, and now you are mine!" With that, the bloodied body of the man moved and looked up to Seric, "I have too be given the mark, and The Bloodied one has called me forth, I, Davin Var-in will serve you as I served my previous lord. The priest and this village tricked us, and attacked us, slaying most of us in the night. They defeated my lord, and took his body to the High Priest's Chamber. There you will find Khorne's gifts, which now belong to you." With that, Two of Seric's Chosen untied the man, and carried him to the chamber of the High Priest. Seric and his men had searched the chamber previously, but did not know to look for false walls, which were found after the new member of the horde pointed them out. As foretold in the vision, Seric found a sword and Shield, which radiated the God of Skull's presence. There too laid the armaments Davin had received, which he quickly equipped. As he was dawning his armor, Davin told Seric stories of how the sword he now carried would maim it's victim more so than a normal blade, due to the vassal of Khorne that lived within that holy steel, and how Seric's shield arm would never suffer fatigue while that shield was carried. Seric knew now he had fully come into his lord's graces, and he prepared his men for the march ahead. At the end of the day, Seric ordered a body count in order to better gain control of the status of his army. When the numbers came back, only sixteen unmarked men where left, which where broken down into two groups of eight, one groups with spears, and one group with standard weapons. Nine chosen and fourteen knights remained. Seric decided quickly that one chosen would have to lead half the knights, and Davin would lead the other half. Seric gave the order and the preparations where made. When the sun awoke, so would the horde, continuing the quest to appease the Lord of Blood, flayer of flesh, and the most holy, Khorne.  
When the Sun finally arose, the horde had already begun the preparations for the march. Once again, Seric and his loyal band marched into the sun, continuing their righteous quest, the quest to prove that Khorne was the one true god, and all that appose him would fall. 


End file.
